


Choice

by twin_pearls



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, One Shot, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twin_pearls/pseuds/twin_pearls
Summary: Because sometimes you also need words. Cloti. One-Shot. Post-AC.





	Choice

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, ever posted on AO3 before, and I am so excited! Hope ya'll enjoy :)

 

Choice

 

“So it’s really gone?” I ask and it takes forever to say even though I already know the answer is yes. It’s not meant to be a loaded question, but it sounds like one, sounds like I’ve been waiting days and months and years to ask it. And maybe that’s true even though I hadn’t realized it. My back is stiff. My palms are cold with old sweat as I get off his bike and my arms are drenched with rainwater. _He’s_ drenched with rainwater and it takes everything and more to not run my hands over them. To _touch_ him.

_Gaia, I’ve missed you_. I want to say but bite my lip instead. Whatever boldness I could possibly irk up vanishes as he places his arms around me, hard and firm and so, so _wet_. “I’m sorry, Tifa. I’m sorry I never called you back.”

“You’re not.” I say because that’s not what he wanted to say and he knows it. “You never call me back. Not on your phone, not with the PHS…”

“I’m sorry.” The hug tightens and his forehead is on my shoulder. My whole body tenses as his breath hits my collarbone, warm and deep. He starts again, “I’m so sorry.”

“For leaving?”

“Yes.”

“And not telling me?”

No. I know better than that. He’s glad he didn’t tell me, and I push him gently off the crook in my neck to look at him better. His eyes are too blue. When I first saw him in Midgar, it made me uneasy. It made me confused and second guess everything because maybe he _had_ made SOLDIER and that loss of blood and concussion I got messed up my memories and not his. Maybe it was him with the startling blue eyes and not Zack. I remembered Cloud there anyway, didn’t I?

And then the anger and hurt vanish as the two moments string together in one obvious, perfectly Cloud thread. Cloud hiding in Nibelheim. Cloud hiding with Geostigma. Cloud being ashamed and _running._ I swallow and lean up to kiss his cheek. “I would have helped you.”

This is also a partial lie and he knows it too. I would have made him stay. I would have told him we could face it together and he would be despondent. That was how he was right before he left and I think it might be the same again when he doesn’t respond to the kiss. I lean back, my own hesitation and fear building. He’s beautiful. He’s always been beautiful, but now he seems light, less _sad_. He had been sad for so long and I hate that I just watched him. That I didn’t just sit him down, lock him in a room, and _make him_ tell me what was wrong. His shoulders tighten and whatever burden he was carrying is slightly back now. Lines form around his eyes, a reminder of stress and everything this man has been through. I know firsthand he has scars on his chest. I can see more on his arms, grey and shallow from the rain but not nearly as deep as they should have been. There should be a hole in his chest. He should be dead. The thought drags me back to him and my fingers in turn drag across his chest. “Was it her?”

He shakes his head, eyes trained on my hand. He felt warm, almost _soft_ , and my nails catch on the wool of his sweater. “But I saw her… and Zack.”

I’m waiting. I feel cold suddenly. I watch his face, watch for the unmistakable pain and slouched shoulders and the cloud form over the ice blue of his eyes. But instead he smiles and his hand grabs mine and curves into it, fingers wrapping and rubbing my knuckles.

“It was all of you.” He seems shy and looks like he expects me to say something, but all I want to do is hug him again, bind him to my body and let him know how damn _grateful_ I am. He smells like rain and gunpowder and the familiar deep musk of _him_. I feel my spine ripple and it takes everything not to kiss him again.

“Well I’m glad we finally snapped you out of it.” I lean my head to the side and joke because it was easier that way. The blush was still creeping to my cheeks. “I cleaned your room by the way. I figured you wouldn’t want all your maps bleached by the sun when you…”

“My room? Why? I’m going back to the church after this.”

I’m rigid. But my grip in his grows flaccid and Cloud’s smile becomes tooth-grinned.

“It’s much more comfortable, Teef. And buying my food at a convenience store? I hate to admit it, but it’s ten times better than your…”

“You’re not funny.” I can’t stop smiling.

He can’t either. “What?” His eyes catch the Seventh Heaven and grow wide. “So I’m staying in my room?”

“Don’t you want to?”

He doesn’t reply and instead looks back at Fenrir. The bike is dusty and scratched, and I can feel him frowning though I can’t even see his face behind that mess of blond hair. “Did _you_ take my bike there?”

“Maybe.” I hate that thing. It’s too fast and has no sides and is in no way an efficient way to get around with more than two people.

He echoes my thoughts and swings back around. “But you _hate_ Fenrir.”

“I hate that you gave it a name. Do you even _know_ who Fenrir was?”

“There is no way you took my bike.”

I nod. “There is no way I took your bike.”

“Then who…” His back stiffens and the electricity is back in his face. Cloud rushes over and opens the compartments to reveal the pieces of his sword—all of the slots empty of materia. “I’m going to kill her.”

 

All he wants are eggs so I make him four with a little soy sauce but he’s still hungry. I make him three more and give him a piece of bread and rice wine to wash it down. He’s at the bar, me across wiping the counter as if he were just some customer and I’m just about ready to close shop. Cloud seems to think this dynamic is weird too, and he takes a sip of the milky liquid before nodding to the seat on his right.

I’m about to argue that I still need to take out the trash, but that was his job before he left and he could do it now that he was here again. _Welcome home, Cloud! Dumpster’s still on the left!_

I hold back my own laugh and reach under the counter and pull out a wrapped bottle of sake. The blond across from me cocks a small smile. “Why am I drinking this when you had that the whole time?”

It was a great bottle. Made in Wutai before the war and worth more gil than a mastered All. “I hadn’t decided to drink with you yet.”

I take out two small ceramic cups I got from a market in downtown Edge. My feet are aching. My body’s aching as the fights from the day earlier come in one, long _rush_ when I sit. I feel like a puddle, like a sore mass of limbs and I reach for my own cup of sake. Cloud flusters to grab his own and he holds it out. _He wants to cheers?_

“To what?” I ask, my voice not attempting to hide my surprise. He’s still pale. Dark circles outline and seem to make his eyes glow even more. I’ve known him for so long but this Cloud is rare. He isn’t the cocky ex-SOLDIER or the shy boy from a small town wanting to be so much more. This Cloud is _settled_. This is the Cloud I took from the Lifestream, the Cloud I was with right before our first fight with Sephiroth, the Cloud who helped me rebuilt Seventh Heaven.

“To Gaia?”

I snort-laugh because it seems like such a random thing to cheers to and his uncertainty makes me think he thinks so too. Gaia—why Gaia? I ask and he shrugs and tries again, “Um, AVALANCHE?”

“Half our friends were never in AVALANCHE,” I argue and he bites his lip.

“Okay…how about AVALANCHE and ninjas and ex-Turks…”

“And pilots and heads of urban development robots?” We’re still holding up our glasses, eyes locking, both of our smiles way too high. My cheekbones hurt. “And heads of urban development.”

“And failed experiments.”

“And flower girls.”

“And martial artists turned barkeeps.”

I lose our stare-down game and glance at his boots. The leather is worn, cracked in most places but shining in others. It takes everything not to look at his face. “And mercenaries turned heroes.”

“Is that supposed to be me?”

I nod.

“I think that could be said about all of us,” Cloud says and pushes more on our two cups. “It’s bad luck not to look, Tifa.”

So I do. I look up and his smile is gone, but that lightness is still there. “This is a long cheers.”

He nods and takes back the sake. I do the same, and for such an expensive bottle _it still burns_.  Cloud smacks his lip and chases with his rice wine. “Where’s Denzel and Marlene?”

“With Barret.” Barret had a small house just finished near the borders of Edge while he was gone. It was technically Marlene’s home, and Barret had offered to take Denzel too. _“A break for you and Spike.”_

“He wanted us to be alone?”

I nod again. Cloud pours each of us more sake.  I have a lot of questions and even more emotions wanting to rise and burst out of my mouth. One route felt much safer. “Why did you run?”

Cloud took another sip and reached to unbuckle his boots. They fell in one loud _clunk_ on the wood, and I hate that he’s stalling. But I let him. Stalling means he’ll talk. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me _what_?” My frustration pours out. I’ve been frustrated for so long. And confused. I feel like I’m dragging him, forcing him to live a life that maybe he doesn’t want to live. But the guilt on him is clear as Meteor was in the sky, and all I know was, _well I don’t know what he wants_. I exhale and drink more sake. “I’m sorry. I…”

“It was a death sentence, Tifa.”

The tone and thickness of his voice pulls me to look at him again. His breath is short, his head facing down so that I couldn’t see his eyes under his hair. Cloud lays his hands flat on the bar and I grab one immediately. “I would have wanted to be with you.”

“I know…but I couldn’t let you watch me die. I couldn’t fail you or Denzel like that. I promised to save him. How was I supposed to do that when I couldn’t save myself?”

_You always take promises too seriously._ But I love him for it. Slowly, I relax my shoulders and trace my tongue on my lips, mouth feeling incredibly dry. “It would have crushed me.” I feel his eyes burn on me but I shake the thought away. I’m nervous, terrified. “If you left and just…just gave up. It would have _crushed_ me, Cloud.”

“It wouldn’t…”

“No,” I was shaking my head rapidly. I could feel the wetness on my cheeks, the salt tinge my chapped lips. “Maybe you’re right. I’d be strong for Denzel. I would. That’s who I am, but…” Words were failing. Words never seemed to work for me, but I try to continue, even it was just blabber. “You and I…”

He’s kissing me before I can finish, and I’m grateful again that we don’t need words. He tastes like sake and rain, and as we stand and lean into each other more, I swear I can smell the sweet pine of our home. This is why I love him. Because he is home but not. He is nostalgia and future, energy and stability. His hands carve down the leather of my vest until they touch skin, and they are _burning_. We kiss desperately but with increasing familiarity until I can’t even think of what I’m trying and want to do _and just do_. He bites my lower lip and my mouth opens more and then I’m giggling and throwing my arms around him as he kisses my neck. “I missed you, Tifa.”

“You never have to miss me again.” It takes more effort to say than it should. My fingers dig into his hair, parts of it still wet. “Never.”

His lips move and I’m immediately disappointed when he steps back and leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Just never leave.”

His eyebrow quirks. “No deliveries?”

“No.” I shake my head. “We’ll train a chocobo.”

“To make the deliveries? Won’t our customers expect me?”

“I doubt they’ll notice.” I lean away and push back his bangs. His cheeks are flushed from our kiss, his pupils dilated. I swallow. “But do you want to stay?”

Cloud looks puzzled by my question, eyes narrowing until there’s a strange, foreign glint. He’s even more flushed but his hands are on my waist again. “Maybe not in my room.”

I follow his hands down. “That could work.”

 

I haven’t slept so easily in weeks. My arm is numb from laying on it, and my body is even more sore than it was before I started sleeping. I turn around, slowly, carefully, until I’m facing him. His face is buried in the pillow, his hair a spiked yellow cactus protruding in all and every direction. My chest is heavy, bursting, and I just continue to be a total creep and _stare at him_. His chest rises and falls easily. The pale blue sheets have slid down his shoulders to the middle of his back, and in the bright light of dawn, I can see his muscles relax and shift with each inhale.

“I love you.” It’s easier to say then, easier when he’s asleep and comatose and looking so, so beautiful. But still my voice is quiet, barely audible even to me, and I wonder if that was more knee-jerk than meaningful.

I want to touch him so I do. I push his hair back, warming my hands in the fluff of yellow strands, and then trace his back, trace the curves and muscles and the roughness of scars. There’s a sharp inhale, and I take my hand back, but Cloud shakes his head. “Don’t...”

So I don’t and I keep going, shifting closer so that my chest is against his left arm. His arm is under the pillow, cradling his head, and I lean over and give a kiss on his bicep before my right hand treads over his back again. “Maybe we should go tanning.” We’re ghosts in color but no longer in life. My voice is rough-cracked from the morning. “Go to Costa del Sol or Wutai.”

“Costa del Sol,” Cloud answers immediately, and he’s half muffled by the pillow and half by his hair. He breathes deeply again and shifts until blue eyes are blinking at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them glow so brightly in the day. His hand escapes the pillow and slides, instead, on me.  I shiver and lean in more. “Sorry…” He realizes his hand are ice but I grab his wrist on my hip.

“No more apologies.” They’re warm already and he kisses below my ear before tugging me closer. I laugh and shake my head at his dreamy look. “I can’t. I’m so sore.”

“From…” His voice trails off, too confident for him.

“Fighting.” I push back and try to match his cheekiness. I can’t. Cheeky Cloud. Cocky Cloud. My mind is buzzing with confusion and happiness. I glance down between our nakedness and touch the deep scar in the middle of his chest. It’s raised and bloodied brown and is too new. “Ouch.”

“Ouch,” He agrees and I think he’s looking down _not at my scar_ but he is and his frown deepens. “If all of this never had happened…if we were still in Nibelheim…”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly because I don’t. As a kid, I thought he was cute but such a loner, such an _idiot_ for picking fights left and right. My father never liked him. My friends never liked him, but I had still gone to meet him before he left for Midgar. I still wanted him there that night in the reactor. “I’d like to think that as terrible as some things are…there’s some good that can come from it. That there could be a reason for it all.”

He nods but I can tell he doesn’t completely agree with me, and that’s alright because his grip on me tightens and he says, “I don’t think we’re those people anymore.”

I kiss him gently, softly, barely touching the smooth slickness of his lips. His breath is warm and I stay close, nose touching, wanting to feel the air on my face. I don’t know who those people are anymore. I can’t imagine being in Nibelheim, him my neighbor and just my neighbor. Both of us untouched by ShinRa and Sephiroth and Jenova. And though there had been so much death and crying and darkness, I feel okay. I don’t want to be that girl anymore.

 

“It’s us,” he says and his eyes are hopeful and bright and want me to understand why he just said that _but I don’t_.

“Sorry?” I turn back to washing the glasses. The bar opens in a few hours and I still had to do inventory and prep whatever meager dinner I could offer today.

Cloud hesitates. I could hear him breathe, shift his feet, but he doesn’t come closer to me. I have soap up to my elbows and in my hair, and I have so much to do that I can’t stop thinking about how he’s here talking instead of installing the kegs like I had asked.

“What you asked me…before the Forgotten City. It’s always been us.”

I still don’t know what he means and then I do and the glass I’m washing shatters in the sink. He’s never told me that. He’s never…never consciously told me what I mean to him, and to be fair, I haven’t either. I lean on the sink, my hands gripping the edge before saying, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” He’s not coming closer. “And Denzel and Marlene are a piece of that. All of our friends are too. I get that. But…” He shakes his head. “If you _did_ just mean you, the answer would be you.”

“You.” My cheeks hurt again. The sink is supporting my body up.

His face is red, hot. “I don’t think you know how long I wanted to say that.”

And he looks relieved. He looks happy and timid and all too sixteen instead of twenty-three. He’s still at the doorframe and I’m still at the sink, and the _last_ thing I would have thought is that I would feel so, so _awkward_ about this. About _Cloud_. But I do, and I can’t look at him, but I also can’t stop smiling and thinking about how I can’t stop smiling and how loud the _pump-thump_ of my heart is. It’s deafening. “The bar will open soon.” I start picking the pieces of glass from the sink. “Have you installed the kegs?”

“No—no.” He shuffles his feet. His face falls a bit. “I will. But, Tifa…”

“I cleaned out the system already. The WROs stopping by and…”  I catch my hand as a piece of glass slips and blood streaks the sink red. He’s next to me instantly, dishtowel in hand instead of any sort of materia.

He can’t look at me, and his hands are shaking as he wraps my hand. _Stupid, Tifa. You’re so…_ “Cloud?”

“It’s not too deep. I don’t see any glass fragments.”

“It’s you, Cloud.” The words fall out. They’re easier than I thought they would be. “I’ll always choose you.”

“That’s…good to hear.” He finishes wrapping my hand but won’t let go.

“Just good?”

“No.”

“Maybe great?”

“Just maybe,” he smirks and kisses me, tender and feather-soft. And then he’s gone to get the kegs and I’m picking shards from the sink thinking that maybe words have something to them after all.


End file.
